


humbling

by geniewish



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bruises, Come Eating, Crying, Degradation, Dom/sub, Facials, M/M, Mild Painplay, Puppy Play, Rough Sex, Spit Kink, Verbal Humiliation, background praise kink, brief aftercare because we cut off before i could be bothered with fluff, but the title says this is just humbling so whos to say, dom hyungwon, oh yeah thats the second only tag, sub minhyuk, thats the only tag, the word spitpup is being used
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:40:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27288067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geniewish/pseuds/geniewish
Summary: minhyuk, the theatre kid extraordinaire, needs some humbling, which hyungwon doesn’t think is his place to provide, but minhyuk has an idea.
Relationships: Chae Hyungwon/Lee Minhyuk
Comments: 6
Kudos: 58





	humbling

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote a short smut!!!! what an exercise in conciseness 
> 
> this is inspired by me being mad at minhyuk in the teaser pics bc he’s too pretty n also hot n i would like it if he wasn’t
> 
> not to self promote but this is gross n rough but if u wanna read my soft puppy play instead i can offer [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22348933)  
> ; its not set in the same universe at all but whos to say that every hyunghyuk to ever exist is not puppy play
> 
> do read the tags though because there is degradation and a little pain n also no protection so like beware and dont forget theres always communication and boundaries etc etc 
> 
> hope u enjoy!!

“I don’t mean to sound vain but I think I’m the prettiest boy in the world,” Minhyuk says from his place on the couch. Hyungwon’s room has everything a poor journalist may need, save for a kitchen and an en-suite bathroom. There’s a 55” TV in front of the couch where Minhyuk checks his reflection every once in a while; there’s a shiny black espresso machine where Minhyuk fixes his hair when he makes himself latte with 80% milk and the remaining percent syrup; there’s a nice vanity table where Minhyuk stores all his makeup, body lotions, perfumes, body glitters, accessories, body mists and sometimes his own body too. 

“I wonder if Kihyun ever feels embarrassed performing next to me on stage. Look at this pic,” Minhyuk says and doesn’t show the pic, “I look so good. I did all the makeup myself as well, did you see? Did I look good on stage? Hyungwon, how do you feel dating the most handsome guy in the area?”

‘The area’ doesn’t cover it. 

“I think the photographer is secretly in love with me. No, look,” Minhyuk cackles, “he posted this pic where Kihyun is grimacing while belting, but the next pic, if you scroll – come look, Hyungwon – if you scroll, the next pic is this. Don’t I look pretty? Oh, the next is me kissing Hyunjung after our duet. How do I look cuter than her? Do you think I look cuter than her?”

‘The country’ may cover it. ‘The continent’ may cover it. Hell, if Hyungwon’s feeling generous he will even say ‘the universe’. But ‘the area’? That’s Minhyuk warming up to his next soliloquy.

“Hyungwon, if you don’t get your head out of your work, I will eat your notes.”

Been there, done that. Wouldn’t want a repeat of that.

Hyungwon turns around. Minhyuk’s shrivelled on the couch, demanding eyes gleaming in his direction. The shadows lay tight on his cheeks, but his skin radiates a sunset glow in the rosy light of Hyungwon’s table lamp. “You’re very pretty, Minhyuk. I tell you this every day.”

And the reason for all that? Minhyuk is a theatre kid.

Behind him are three years of high school musical, four years of drama school, twenty-five years of being dramatic, and now he is trying to make it big in the sapphire lights of national theatres. He is good. He is amazing, actually. Spectacular. Showstopping. Sings like an angel and looks like one too, cries prettily (Hyungwon can confirm up close), and smiles even prettier. Hyungwon has no trouble admitting it and showering Minhyuk in praise when the other slips into his Good Boy character and yips at every head pat Hyungwon offers after a play –– but. 

Today Hyungwon is feeling like a ‘but’. 

“What’s with the attitude,” Minhyuk mutters sourly and looks back down at his phone, saving the remains of his photos posted on the official theatre website after the wrapping of the season. He wants his pictures permanently on the internet. He wants his portraits displayed on Broadway and his name engraved on a golden plate and his name highlighted blue on Wikipedia pages. 

One day. Today, Hyungwon is feeling like a ‘but’.

“I’ve seen all the pictures, Minhyuk,” he says and sighs. Work is a lot. Writing articles about shit he has no interest in is tough. Fluttering a puppy for a boyfriend is even tougher when all Hyungwon wants is a cup of coffee offered to him out of kind heart and to close his eyes. Take out his contacts. Murder and cannibalise his boss. Mindlessly play with Minhyuk’s soft dark hair. Get a positive comment on his article. 

“Well,” Minhyuk starts, thrown off guard by the lack of enthusiasm, “you should look at them again. It’s me we’re talking about.”

Hyungwon turns around to crouch in front of his laptop again. “You’re talking about you.” He sighs again, his eyes running loose over the words he is yet to write. “I, on the other hand, think you need some humbling.”

He withstands a second-long pause, and before Minhyuk can raise his head and peer into his nape with _something_ , Hyungwon mumbles, “But it’s not my place to provide that.”

Never in his life will he ever say a mean thing about the love of his life directly to his face. Yes, there is a loophole in this statement. No, Hyungwon doesn’t think he needs to elaborate or work harder to become the bigger person. He is already a big enough person. If he cuts out the only source of stress relief he has in his life (arguing with Minhyuk), he will become a tangled fog of pulsating yearning. 

Instead of taking offense, Minhyuk puts his phone down. “Humbling in what?”

Hyungwon can have this discussion. “You know,” he mutters vaguely, “saying things that make you sound a bit conceited.”

Minhyuk pouts in thought, taps his chin with his index finger as if to fight a swelling. “So? I am very proud of myself.” Then he curls and hides his mouth behind the knee propped against his chest and mumbles, “All I ever wanted from you is a little praise there and there,” so quietly it sounds almost pitiful.

‘There and there’ doesn’t cover it.

“And it’s good,” Hyungwon says as his eyes unfocus again. He is not reading. He is slowly catching up with his own thoughts that only ever visit him in blurry shapes and forms. A single frame of a black and white silent film. A flash on the screen. Tyler Durden stitching a cock to the tape in that pseudo-philosophical way in _Fight Club_. “But there’s nothing wrong with being a little humbler. You don’t know how life will treat you later on.”

Minhyuk shuffles, straightens his legs and puts both his feet on the floor. “And what do you wanna do? Diss me?”

And there it is. The curious note that, if Hyungwon responds to correctly, will take on a form of teasing. This is exactly what Hyungwon shouldn’t do. Because teasing Minhyuk is _the_ cockiest Minhyuk.

“I told you there’s nothing I can do. You’re good enough the way you are.”

‘Good enough’ is never good enough for Minhyuk. Hyungwon imagines this makes him go restless, flustered, furious maybe, feral. But instead Minhyuk gets up and walks up to Hyungwon, bends down and hugs him around the shoulders from behind. His cheek presses into Hyungwon’s, his hands intertwine on his chest, his honey-sweet voice rings in his ears. 

“You don’t have the guts to be rude to your baby, do you?” Minhyuk coos and hugs him tighter. Squeezes him. There is this endeared flattened smile on his lips, his cheeks are puffed up but his eyes glisten with mischief. Hyungwon doesn’t need to look to know his expression.

He hums in neither denial nor confirmation. “I’m never rude for no reason.”

Minhyuk finds a reason for everything. Likes it when Hyungwon gets out of his comfort zone and taunts him until it’s Hyungwon who needs to drag Minhyuk out of his doghouse for a little game. “Let’s play,” Minhyuk suggests. In his current state of mind, the thought is sparkling a pretty novel green. “Be rude to me for being a bad boy. Humble me.”

Hyungwon is really tired and his eyes feel lifeless but he turns to look at Minhyuk with round warmth. “You do realise that by ‘being rude’ I mean degrade you,” he blinks sleepily. Lovingly. “Go full, you know, sado-maso.”

Minhyuk straightens and taps his shoulders. “Come on then, you rarely go all out on me. I’ve been itching to wear the collar all day.”

Because Minhyuk appears in the spotlight way too often to afford a week off to heal heavy bruises. “Not tonight, Minhyuk,” Hyungwon sighs apologetically. “I’m not in the mood.” 

“Then when?” Minhyuk plops back on the couch and grabs his phone to act huffy until Hyungwon finishes with work.

“I don’t know.” Hyungwon is giving it all the remaining thoughts he has. It’s a rare occasion when Minhyuk doesn’t want to just cry from pleasure, but feel pleasure from crying and consequently cry from pleasure too. He’s been in seventh heaven the past weeks of the musical run. Maybe he needs a comedown. Maybe Hyungwon puts him at risk of self-esteem issues. “You really wanna play?” He sees Minhyuk nod firmly several times in his peripheral, and it must be the yearn for the high he acquires right after. “Let’s arrange something on the weekend?”

Minhyuk’s smile of agreement is just his front teeth digging into his bottom lip and corners of his mouth curling slightly into his cheeks.

Minhyuk isn’t that good at being a puppy. It’s more that he likes being called a puppy and looked at with nothing but pure adoration. Likes pets and praises and snacks hand-fed to him and collars buckled just right around his neck and the pleasantly ticklish feeling on his cheeks when the fluffy tail plug fits nice and snug inside him. 

He is good at pretending to be lovely but he is bad at training to become so. Doesn’t like leashes pulled taut and gloved hands slapping his face; likes it when Hyungwon brushes his teeth and loathes his calculating stares as if he is giving a _grade_ to his teeth. His teeth don’t need a grade. They are perfect without a number.

But Hyungwon pries, pries and pries, sometimes on purpose, sometimes because his eyes are too gawkish on their own, and sometimes because Minhyuk starts squirming and shrivelling and keening underneath him because no one studies him as carefully as Hyungwon does.

Dissects him. And then collects each part, sews him together and ruins him all over again with precise surgical hands. 

Even though the only thing Hyungwon’s hands are precise at is typing words on a keyboard in two languages.

So when Minhyuk demanded, _Attention!_ and huffed and stomped his foot, and Hyungwon looked at him, the faintest of the judgemental stares he reserves for rude colleagues at work, Minhyuk wobbled. Desperate for attention. Desperate for the humbling he himself tricked Hyungwon into providing.

It has gone beyond a singular one-and-done session for both of them. Minhyuk prettied himself up in the mirror and said, _Do your worst_ , and the _worst_ Hyungwon had always translated into _best_ , and he gripped Minhyuk tight around the hips when he fucked into him against the wall the first round, a warm-up, a slap of lumpy wallpapers against Minhyuk’s tender skin and no hands around him. 

He had bruised his thighs the other day, dug his fingers into the soft flesh where he held Minhyuk in place, and then jabbed into each brownish spot when Minhyuk misbehaved. There was a circle of purple marks on the side of Minhyuk’s tummy, and when Hyungwon clasped both his wrists above his head – hard, until his own hands were shaking and his thumbs felt sore – he scattered hickeys on his neck, above the red line where the collar had been choking him; below the bite mark checkered with dark pink teeth indents around his clavicle. 

Minhyuk whined as he begged to be ruined. Living in the mindset that the harsher he was treated, the harder he was loved, and there is no lie in that statement, never has been, but Minhyuk said his limit was ‘ugly’, and his hard limit was piss.

He hasn’t spilled a single tear yet.

“Get on the bed and show yourself off like a good boy,” Hyungwon says, warm but neither commanding nor encouraging, when he helps Minhyuk up on his feet. The corners of his mouth are dry, and his bottom lip looks chapped. His knees match his thighs – old yellow-brown bruises are filling with fresh blueish colour. The bottom plates of his eyes start glistening with tears, but it is nothing if not the aftermath of his throat’s hard work. Its resilience.

Hyungwon was being gentle with his hips, as he always was, but where his fingers clenched in the back of Minhyuk’s head there is now a messy lump of hair. 

Minhyuk’s eyes are puppy sad. He whimpers as Hyungwon grabs him under armpits and nods in the direction of the bed. The rosy table light now throws the same coral glow over Minhyuk’s fluttering tummy and spread out thighs from its place on the nightstand. Obeying, Minhyuk’s paws lay on his chest, wrists curled and fingers bent inwards. It’s a tiny movement, but Hyungwon catches it – the way Minhyuk’s toes start to fiddle but stop in time. 

Hyungwon takes slow steps towards the bed. Hikes one knee on the edge, right in front of Minhyuk's open legs, and touches himself. Observes Minhyuk as if he were an abandoned puppy behind a glass enclosure in a local shelter. Yapping to catch attention, silently with his big wet eyes begging for this handsome stranger with warm smiles and soft hands to take him home and care for him. 

But Hyungwon’s hands are indeed soft when he strokes himself. His smile is indeed warm when he says, “You miserable little creature.”

It drags a whine out of Minhyuk. He’s at least being a good puppy and doesn’t use human words and gestures to communicate. He nibbles on his bottom lip, his front teeth latch onto a dried piece of skin and tear it off, exposing it for a new wound. He clenches, squirms. He is pitiful. Hyungwon likes it when he is like that – when his body trembles with raw, unfiltered emotions, when his eyes only look up at him and his mouth forms around sounds that please Hyungwon’s ears better than melodramatic musicals. He likes it when Minhyuk doesn’t play a character. He likes it when Minhyuk can’t _help_ but be a little puppy toy.

Like he is now, seeing nothing but Hyungwon’s sharp outlines that deliver his predatory crawl with grace and composure. He settles between Minhyuk’s thighs, keeping himself up on his outstretched arms, face hovering over Minhyuk’s but at a slight distance, eyes staring directly into the crumbling core where Minhyuk’s dignity once lied unguarded. 

“All you want is to be used, mm?” There is a choked-up rasp to Hyungwon’s voice that hasn’t soothed since they started playing. His face feels heavy, though the swelling from the late morning has died out with physical exertion. His heart is tender, but he doesn’t let his eyes widen with endearment, and maybe like that he looks a little sad, maybe regretful for letting Minhyuk go through such a slow, suffocating death of his humanity, but he really isn’t. He is ecstatic. So ecstatic he could laugh.

Minhyuk briefly tugs his chin downwards but he stops himself and whimpers in confirmation instead. Hyungwon smiles, his cheeks puffing. His eyes stay still. Then his right hand aims for Minhyuk’s throat. 

He traps Minhyuk’s jaw firmly in the outstretched space between his thumb and index finger. His grip isn’t choking, his grip is careful where Minhyuk’s throat is, but Hyungwon’s greasy fingertips jab into the bruises he left on the sides of his neck, and it makes Minhyuk grimace with a contained cry. 

“You’re a filthy, desperate mutt,” Hyungwon says, his tone as impactful as a dropped handkerchief – too light to be able to hurt. But delightfully so, it does, and Minhyuk’s pleading eyes fill with more tears. His pupils shake, an uneven reflection of the moon over the ocean, and the second Hyungwon’s eyebrows barely, if only just a little bit, rise at the pitiful silence, they spill. Stream down his temples in two even lines. 

Hyungwon watches them disappear in Minhyuk’s brittle sideburns. Dampening them. Staining him. In the vacuumed silence, they both hear when Hyungwon’s tongue wiggles wetly in his mouth. His lips tighten as it runs over his palate and then lies stiff behind his teeth. Every wet noise swishes in the puppy’s eyes with deafening fear.

Hyungwon spits in Minhyuk’s face with savage precision. The whimper that’s ripped out of Minhyuk’s chest borders on a helpless sob.

“I could spit on you and it wouldn’t make a difference,” Hyungwon says. The spit melts in the space between Minhyuk’s eyebrows but it splattered into his eyes at the impact, and Minhyuk scrunches, writhes, tries to wriggle out of Hyungwon’s hold, but all in vain. Hyungwon doesn’t have the need to ask for Minhyuk’s colour, disposition – if he wanted to use the safeword, he’d use it. Right now, if Hyungwon laid his body on top of his, Minhyuk would be poking and leaving wet stains on his stomach.

So Hyungwon lowers himself on his elbows, right hand holding Minhyuk in place by the side of his face, the other briefly wiping his temple to encourage the pup to open his eyes. Their dicks line up between their guts. Minhyuk’s eyes flutter open but not without a tentative, _scared_ awareness. He sniffles when he finds Hyungwon’s face so close.

Now deliberately cradling Minhyuk’s head, Hyungwon gives him a reserved, understanding look. “But you’d take anything I give you, mm?” Minhyuk blinks in response. Blinks away his dewy tears. “Open up.”

With the help of Hyungwon’s thumb on his chin, Minhyuk opens his mouth. His pretty, pretty lips look like tender though weathered petals. His big front teeth peek underneath his swollen top lip. For once in his life, Hyungwon believes Minhyuk isn’t thinking about how beautiful he may be looking right now. 

Swishing behind his cheeks. Hyungwon gathers spit in his mouth, and in the seconds it takes him to do so, Minhyuk’s jaw starts trembling. Slowly, Hyungwon lets the spit dribble out from between his lips. It stretches between them, bubbling and glistening, and then falls right into Minhyuk’s mouth. He gags, chokes as it trickles down his throat, but he can’t close his mouth to swallow. He whimpers for more. His eyes tear up again. Sometimes Hyungwon wants to cry too just to watch his own tears gleam like diamonds on Minhyuk’s cheeks. 

“Spitpup,” Hyungwon says, tone a contemplation of this strange endearment he feels at the name, and exhales with a little smile. “You’re my spitpup. Begging for me to give you my everything.”

Minhyuk’s face crumples. Lips stretched in an unnatural grimace, he spasms with a silent sob. Hyungwon’s smile etches into his eyes. 

“What is it, pup? You want to beg?” Hyungwon sneers but it sounds mellow. His right thumb traces Minhyuk’s lip, the fingers of his left hand twirl in his hair. “You want me to fuck you?” What comes out of Minhyuk in response is an ugly mewl. His face is flushed with embarrassment and tears and want, but deep inside he is burning with humiliation. Ashamed of how much he wants. Ashamed of how quickly his pretty puppy resolution crumbles the longer Hyungwon taunts him, giving way to nothing but humility.

If Hyungwon doesn’t fuck him hard, he doesn’t lust for him enough. If Hyungwon fucks him hard, he doesn’t care for him enough. Whichever way Minhyuk sniffs, he is nothing. All he can do is take what Hyungwon gives him. Hyungwon is everything. 

For once, Minhyuk is on the other side of worship.

“Don’t cry,” Hyungwon coos and shifts, removes one hand from his face and reaches for his thigh. Digs into the bruises. Minhyuk cries out. “Beg properly.”

Through clogged nose and rough throat, Minhyuk squeezes out a bark. It’s a pitiful sob that sounds vaguely like a ‘woof’, and Hyungwon just pouts at him. 

“A little more. Come on, silly pup, beg like I don’t know what a cockslut you are.”

Minhyuk’s paws helplessly scratch at his chest, as if with the intention to rip out the hurt of humiliation right out of his heart. Hyungwon starts to feel sorry, terribly sorry, but he is not allowed to give in. Once all of those pitiful tears burst out of him, Minhyuk will feel good. Join Hyungwon in the euphoria. 

With his eyes scrunched up, he gives Hyungwon a bark. Another bark. A terrible whine. Hyungwon shakes his head and reaches between Minhyuk’s thighs. Still slick, still hot from half an hour ago, but not as comfortable, and when Hyungwon prods a finger between his cheeks, Minhyuk makes a noise. A human noise. _Ai!_ he cries, and then cries some more because Hyungwon stares at him. 

“I’m not going to lube you up again,” Hyungwon warns, impenetrable, though his movements are soft when he briefly fingers Minhyuk again with the same oily hand. “Whore,” Hyungwon says. “Little whiny bitch,” he says again. Minhyuk’s mouth fills with spit and strings of saliva stretch between his rows of teeth when he opens his mouth in another cry.

And Hyungwon wants to fill it with more. 

“Open up,” he orders, and Minhyuk listens. Hyungwon leans down closer, so close he could almost kiss Minhyuk, but instead he spits short and quick into his mouth, and there is the familiar gag. 

Hyungwon straightens, pulls out his fingers, shifts around. His arms and shoulders have grown sore from holding up his body weight, but he won’t collapse until he is done, not until Minhyuk collapses first, just how he wanted. Hyungwon smears his precome, briefly ponders the mess between their hands and assholes and dicks, guides himself in, watches as Minhyuk shudders, spasms, whimpers. Falls forward and rocks into his puppy without warning. 

“I’m not touching you, and you’re not touching yourself either,” Hyungwon pants into his face. He aims, he aims well, and Minhyuk arches and kicks. Hyungwon grips his shoulder. Old bruises sting under crooked fingers, but Minhyuk has already learned not to _ai!_ at the pain and howl instead. “Come at your own discretion.”

Minhyuk will, Minhyuk will come so well. Hyungwon is hot and rough and too much inside him, he moves but his eyes don’t stray, don’t blink. Like pools of heated oil they fuel Minhyuk – the ache of humiliation burns, and his tears burn as they soak in his sideburns, and every nerve wiring to his dick is set aflame. 

He opens his mouth, his whimpers and cries are now open and uncontrolled fanning over Hyungwon’s face. 

“What is it?” Hyungwon wants to smile, wants to mock Minhyuk, but he is too concentrated on the movement of his hips and the tremble in his arms to put on another mask. “You want me to spit on you again?”

Minhyuk whines, his bent fingers start scratching his chest again. His lips tremble with anticipation, his throat is probably closing in to accommodate an uncomfortable slide, but Hyungwon gathers saliva in his mouth and doesn’t lean forward to transfer it nice and neat into Minhyuk’s. He spits into his face. It splatters on his furious cheek and hauls another sob out of him. Minhyuk’s feet hooked behind Hyungwon’s thighs kick with force. 

“You’re a pet,” Hyungwon says, “and I will do whatever the fuck I want with you.” He briefly grips his bruised thigh as a warning. “Spitty puppy.” His voice is coarse, fading with the last of his strength he puts into fucking Minhyuk. 

Minhyuk’s body is seized with pre-orgasmic convulsions before Hyungwon could even say another degrading thing. His fingers press into the bruises, Minhyuk sobs as it hits him, and his poor neglected dick spurts come all over his stomach. Unable to think, unable to process anything at all but the aching pleasure coursing and spasming through his body, he brings his paws to his cheeks. Hiding in shame from his owner, or maybe wiping the endless stream of tears.

His crying slowly quiets down. Hyungwon doesn’t fuck into him but stays there, hot and pulsing inside him, and then Minhyuk’s lungs freeze with fear. He opens his eyes. Hyungwon is staring, always staring like he wants to tear Minhyuk to pieces. 

“Did I allow that?” Hyungwon asks. Minhyuk whimpers. “I said, did I allow you to move?”

When Minhyuk wants to beg forgiveness or ask for something nicely, he licks Hyungwon’s face, his neck, his hands. But the stupid pup forgot about the mess he is, and so when he surges forward, as much as his jelly neck allows him to, Hyungwon jerks backwards. Looks at Minhyuk with contempt. His eyes were always speaking more than his awkward tongue ever could.

Hyungwon pulls out abruptly, and the sudden emptiness breaks Minhyuk apart. Hyungwon climbs on top of Minhyuk, puts his knees on either side of the pup’s waist and bends down. Clasps both of Minhyuk’s wrists in one hand and pins them over his head. His grip is bruising, his fingers squeeze tightly around the frail round bones like they want to crush them, but the sweat and grease coating his palms don’t let him skin Minhyuk alive.

“Don’t forget your place, mutt.” At last, Hyungwon throws the word out with force. Less concerned with Minhyuk’s release and able to only focus on their endgame task, Hyungwon _cuts._ Tongue behind his teeth and eyes staying still and cold between his lids slicing Minhyuk apart until he is nothing but a slick, fleshy mess. 

He lets go of his wrists and shifts a little closer to Minhyuk’s face. He is heavy between his legs, angry and red and entirely intimidating in Minhyuk’s fuzzy perception. Hyungwon strokes himself, evenly paced. He is towering over Minhyuk, his head seemingly so close to hitting the ceiling, but if he leans in a little closer, the head of his cock would touch Minhyuk’s lips. 

Unconsciously or not, the puppy’s lips part. Hyungwon scoffs with a sharp smile. “You want me to fuck your mouth again? Fill you up until you can’t breathe? Mm, pup?” With that Hyungwon spreads his legs and lowers himself until his cock bumps into Minhyuk’s chin. Hyungwon looks at Minhyuk’s armpits. They’re brilliant-clean like the rest of him, but Hyungwon never asked if he does it for him or for the stage. 

Minhyuk’s tongue rolls out of his mouth. Hyungwon lets him lick the precome. Lets Minhyuk believe he’s loosening his hold on him. He huffs, the stimulation getting too much, but he tries to contain the shiver, the stutter of his hips. He pushes the tip into Minhyuk’s wet mouth, watches the way his eyes fill with more puppy tears – this time of gratitude – and strokes faster. 

“Slut,” Hyungwon says, and quickly Minhyuk raises his pleading eyes to him and whimpers. “I will come all over your face and you will only whimper in response. Yeah, cumpuppy? Am I wrong?”

Hyungwon is not wrong, and they both know it. Suddenly, Hyungwon’s hand gathers furious speed, he pushes into Minhyuk’s mouth and then pulls back, groans, stutters and comes. Minhyuk scrunches his face as Hyungwon splatters white across his cheeks and forehead and mouth. 

It looks like pearls on his ruby skin. 

Exhaling, Hyungwon feels at ease. Minhyuk’s mouth curls pitifully downwards. There are more tears to come.

“Hey, pup,” Hyungwon says, but there is no relief, no warmth in his voice. Minhyuk stealthily looks up at him. Hyungwon worries about the state of his skin if he puts off cleaning for another minute. Minhyuk doesn’t. “You think you look pretty right now? Mm?” 

Minhyuk’s face crumples again. Tears softly escape from the corners of his eyes.

Hyungwon’s voice is soft and quiet when he speaks. “You think you’re beautiful like that? Covered in hickeys, spit and come like a whore?” Slowly, he takes his initial position between Minhyuk’s legs. Lowers himself to be face to face with the puppy again. Minhyuk’s arms have long given up maintaining the position Hyungwon forced them into and are now loosely spread on either side of his head. 

No, he isn’t pretty like that. But he wants to be made pretty so bad. 

Hyungwon scoops a few drops of come from his cheek and leads two fingers to Minhyuk’s mouth. He takes them readily. Licks them clean. Pleads his big sad eyes at Hyungwon. Hyungwon pushes them in slowly, carefully, until the very knuckles, and although Minhyuk gags with a horrible noise and tears stick to his lashes, he takes him diligently. Like he always does. Does everything diligently. 

He is a good boy, really, even if sometimes his pride overshadows all his other humble qualities.

“My silly, mucky cumpuppy,” Hyungwon mutters. In his voice there is a hint of wonder. Minhyuk makes a soft dulcet noise. “You like it? You like it when I call you silly names?” Minhyuk hums, though his voice trembles. 

Hyungwon too hums in response, retrieves his fingers. He reaches between their stomachs, gathers some of Minhyuk’s cold, sticky spunk. Looks at his fingers for a few seconds then swiftly tracks back to Minhyuk. “You have to earn it then.”

Against Minhyuk’s expectations, Hyungwon swallows his own two fingers instead. Licks everything off. It’s bitter and salty and gross on his tongue, but he keeps it inside, mixes it with saliva, and it swishes behind his teeth. Then just like before, he hovers closely over Minhyuk’s readily opened mouth and lets it dribble from between his lips like a treacle. 

The awful cumspit blend lands on his tongue first, and then, just like a good boy would, Minhyuk swallows. He sniffs. Timidly opens his mouth again to show Hyungwon that he’s earned it. 

“My little spitpup,” Hyungwon says. Minhyuk absorbs the words with his entire puppy heart.

Hyungwon doesn’t need to ask to know that Minhyuk is at the bottom of his headspace. An abandoned puppy in the rain. 

At last, he can exhale. Mentally pat himself on the shoulder. It feels so good in the moment, this total exchange of power, that it drains him with the last of his breaths right after. 

Uncaring of the mess, Hyungwon fully lays himself on top of Minhyuk. His hands come to cradle his head, his fingers stroke his cheeks, his tangled hair, his adorable ears. His face is blotchy with pink and dry with spit and jizz, and yet Hyungwon looks at him and lets it endear him in a different light. Like how it normally would. 

When Minhyuk relaxes underneath him and his throat doesn’t contract with whimpers, Hyungwon kisses his lips. _That’s it, baby_ , he says. Minhyuk’s mouth is sloppy. When Hyungwon lets go, he infantly sucks it on his bottom lip. 

Soon Minhyuk will re-acquire his ability to speak and move, soon Hyungwon will start a hot bath and dress Minhyuk in an oversized t-shirt to help him walk to the bathroom. Then he will wash him and gently massage the shampoo into his hair, kiss every bruise with a pang in his heart, wipe Minhyuk’s swollen little face with the softest towel and brush Minhyuk’s teeth, and only the next day Minhyuk will look at himself in the mirror and say, _Wow. Shit. That’s kinda hot,_ and Hyungwon will rub a cream into his neck and thighs and wrists and butt cheeks, and Minhyuk will grin at the silly, taken look on Hyungwon’s face. His whipped look. His horrible, wiped out boyfriend look. 

How can he be humble when he’s got Hyungwon wrapped around his crooked little pinkie? 

But for now Minhyuk will bring his hands to his chest and snivel, asking in the tiniest, feeblest voice, “Am I not pretty?”

And Hyungwon smiles, every feature puffing and crinkling with warmth. “Of course you are.” He wipes his spit-coated bottom lip with his thumb. “The prettiest,” he whispers.

He doesn’t want to turn them on their sides so they don’t dirty the pillows even more than they already have, so Hyungwon slots his face in the crook of Minhyuk’s warm damp neck and lets him come to in his own time. 

Maybe only five minutes, or maybe a whole half hour later, Minhyuk hugs him back with his still fisted hands and says, “Good.”

Hyungwon takes the entire aftercare ritual to think of more ways to humble Minhyuk next time.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading!!! if you leave me something it translates into lots of praises for minhyuk <3
> 
> im on twt @chaeleggiewon or [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.qa/impuppykyun)  
> 


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